


The New Baby

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [19]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With their newly-adopted infant daughter in a hospital far from Eastport, Cal debates using the servants’ magical abilities to heal her enough to get her home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Baby

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

_Year two_

“ _It’s fine_ ,” Eli insisted. “ _You should do it_.”

Cal chewed his lip, unusually indecisive. “I just don’t—“ He cut himself off, turned, and paced the other way down the hall. “I don’t want to—“ He didn’t know quite how to explain it, which was unusual for him, and frustrating. “I don’t want to put you out,” he finally said, groping for the right words.

“ _All the health and safety protections would still be in place_ ,” Eli reminded him sensibly. “ _So we have to do our own laundry for a while, it’s not a big deal._ ”

“Yeah,” Cal replied abruptly, more as a sound to make than in agreement.

“ _Cal, send for him_ ,” Eli urged. “ _She’s our daughter too. Isn’t she?_ ”

Cal stopped in the middle of the hallway. It had been the right thing for Eli to say, although he couldn’t necessarily tell that from the silence on the other end of the phone. “You’re right,” Cal finally said. “Send him here.” He snapped the cell phone shut.

“Lord Cal?” He turned suddenly to see a young man standing in the middle of the hospital hallway. His face was pleasant but bland and everything about him could only be described as ‘medium’—medium height, medium weight, medium-brown hair. Everything but his rather distinctive uniform with an orange sunburst emblazoned on it.

The men’s room was nearby and Cal grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him inside. It was empty, fortunately. “You’re Gillian’s brother,” Cal began in a low voice. “You’ve come to visit the baby. You’re from Boston and your name is Paul.” It was the first cover story that came to mind and the man nodded dutifully. “You need different clothes. Dark pants and a white shirt and a jacket. Like mine.”

Suddenly the man was standing before Cal in a mirror image of his own clothing. “Not _exactly_ like mine,” he corrected. “Um, lighter jacket, darker pants, no wrinkles.” The man’s attire was altered. It was truly amazing, but Cal didn’t have time to think about the mechanics of it all right now. “Go to the nurses’ station on the first floor, don’t be seen getting there. Paul Foster, here to see Clara Orange Light in the NICU. You won’t be able to touch her,” Cal added suddenly. “Is that a problem?”

“No, milord, it can be done,” ‘Paul’ assured him.

“No lord or lady stuff,” Cal warned. “Blend in.” That’s what the servants were good at, after all. “What’s wrong?”

Paul was frowning slightly—not a true manifestation of emotion, there were no micro-expressions formed by his facial muscles, but it was still a frown. “There are many people here who need help,” he commented slowly, a faraway look in his eyes.

“I know,” Cal agreed, taking the man’s shoulder. He, more than anyone, could recognize the pain on every face he passed, even if he didn’t want to. “Focus on Clara, alright? Make her just well enough to travel to Eastport, to get her to the hospital there. Okay?”

The man nodded. “I understand.”

“Okay,” Cal agreed, and he walked out of the bathroom.

He wandered back down the hall to the window that looked onto the NICU. Gillian was still in there, of course, dressed in a green gown with a cap over her hair and a mask over her face. Her hand leaned against the plastic box containing their newest child, as though she could transmit strength to the tiny creature within through sheer force of will. Well, Gillian couldn’t; but someone was coming who _could_.

They had thought they could make it from Bangor to Eastport in the ambulance, but something had changed their minds—Cal didn’t know what, he’d been following behind in the car—and they had turned off at Machias. They wanted to get some ‘experts’ in to look at the baby—if she lived long enough for them to reply to the inquiries, was what their expressions really said.

Cal couldn’t let anything happen to Clara. Gillian would be devastated to lose the child, even though she’d only been theirs for two days. They knew she had a heart condition when they’d adopted her—that was why the first set of adoptive parents had backed out, and the agent had called them at the last minute. Of course they said yes. And Gillian had taken one look at the little girl—more a mass of wrinkles and tubes than anything—and lovingly named her Clara. All they had to do was get her to Eastport and she would be fine. But that was a long journey for a heart too damaged to run even a tiny body like Clara’s.

The only thing Cal could think of to do was call in some help of his own—but it was going to be expensive. Getting a servant to leave the protected land of a Darkwood home for an unconnected place, _and_ use their healing powers in a concentrated form? It would detract from the amount of energy the servants could put into doing their usual jobs at home, and Cal’s clan was always a little low in energy in the first place as he chose to keep it smaller than average. But, Cal reasoned, feeling more confident as he paced before the window of the NICU, Clara was a member of their family, too—and once she was home, and healthy, she would add far more to the clan than she had cost.

The door at the other side of the NICU opened and Paul walked in, dressed in a hospital gown, mask, gloves, and cap as appropriate. A nurse pointed him unnecessarily towards Gillian and he made his way over, walking gingerly through the room full of beeping monitors, sighing machines, and tiny beds. Cal watched his eyes dart from side to side, like he wanted to stop and help each child in need. Cal willed him to stay focused on Clara. _After_ she was better, the servant could do what he liked. _After_.

Cal couldn’t hear through the window, but he easily read the surprise on Gillian’s face when she recognized ‘Paul.’ Of course she didn’t have a brother, not in this century at least, and when she looked out the window at Cal, he nodded with what he hoped was reassurance. Her expression—he could only see her eyes and eyebrows, but that was enough—showed relief, and also guilt. She was thinking of the other children and what they would be deprived of, and now he shook his head, trying to convey that all was well with them. Unfortunately there was no better way to communicate, unless Gillian left the NICU or Cal entered it, neither of which was going to happen anytime soon. Just getting her to relinquish her seat in front of Clara’s box to the servant was the most movement Gillian had had in hours.

Cal watched his wife instead of Paul. The servant would do whatever it was he did, which would probably look very much like what Gillian had been doing—no magical special effects or anything like that. Gillian looked tired, Cal thought, tired and stiff and a little lost now without her post to occupy, and he came closer to the window, wishing the NICU had an intercom system. They were lucky the little hospital had a NICU at all, really. He gestured to Gillian to come out, have something to eat, get some sleep, but she shook her head fiercely. Nothing came between Gillian and her children, not even good sense.

Paul didn’t have to stay for very long. Within just a few minutes he stood, spoke briefly to Gillian, and left. He appeared again in the hallway once he’d shed the protective hospital garments. “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked of Cal. Gillian had resumed her seat beside Clara as soon as Paul vacated it.

“No, that’s it, thank you,” Cal told him, not seeing any obvious change in the little girl or the monitors connected to her. That was probably good, though; a dramatic improvement would be hard to explain. “Um, much appreciated,” he added awkwardly—his other spouses were so much better at simple gratitude. Cal never saw anything simple about it, that was the problem. “How’s things at home?”

“Everyone is well,” Paul reported, “though anxious about the health of the new child and eager to have you return.”

With a regular person spouting platitudes Cal would have snorted skeptically, but if the servant said it, it must be true. “Well, you can tell them how things are going here,” he decided, though this was obvious. “We should be home soon, don’t you think?” he asked suddenly, feeling like far too much depended on this not-quite-a-man’s answer.

“That is my prediction,” Paul replied, with the typical coolness of the servants.

“Well then.” Cal took a step back, not realizing he’d taken one forward. “Thanks again. You can go now if you want. Out the front door, though, past the nurses’ station again.”

“As you wish,” Paul replied, and he walked away.

Not long now, Cal thought, turning back to the window. Should he get the doctors to come back and check on her now, or wait for them to come ‘round on their own? He should wait, really; that was the more sensible option. He had to be patient and act like he still didn’t know what was going on, or when things would improve. Doctors, for all their scientific training, could be a superstitious lot and they might want to bring in their experts anyway. Besides, he wouldn’t _really_ have Gillian back until the child was at home, not just in the Eastport hospital.


End file.
